


Enough Tape (to Hang Yourself)

by fascinationex



Series: transformers fics by fascinationex [10]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Duct Tape, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prompt Fic, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21776824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fascinationex/pseuds/fascinationex
Summary: In which Megatron gets all taped up and Starscream rides him into the sunset.
Relationships: Megatron/Starscream
Series: transformers fics by fascinationex [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1311599
Comments: 26
Kudos: 158





	Enough Tape (to Hang Yourself)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Virtualnemesis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtualnemesis/gifts).



> I asked for smut prompts over [on twitter](https://twitter.com/fascination_ex/status/1202516023619883009) and people were kind enough to respond to me. This one is for the prompt, "submissive top megatron being tied up and lovingly wrecked," kindly given by Virtualnemesis.

Tap. Tap-tap.

Megatron's boot sequence ended with the notification that there was a weight on top of him.

His sensors could tell him that it was a cybertronian, but only experience let him know it would be Starscream before he even cracked his optics open.

The grey clouds above were dark and swollen with unshed rain, and silhouetted against them, perched right upon his chassis, Starscream was polished to a sheen, optics glowing brightly. His hands were on Megatron's chest plates, fingers tapping away at the armour there. Tap. Tap-tap.

Starscream was smirking. Smirking and on top of him. 

...ominous.

Megatron scowled thunderously.

"You have two astroseconds to get off me," he growled. His vocaliser was still resetting, so it came out thick and heavy, underlayed with engine noise.

They were in a burnt out field somewhere in what his mapping data said was, possibly, the middle east. He could hear the thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades nearby, but what he could see of the sky was clear. Hopefully it was Vortex and not, say, _a human._

"I think not," purred Starscream. 

Megatron let his engine growl low and brought up his arm to aim his cannon. 

It did not budge. Starscream let out a delighted, mean little laugh. 

"Oh, I knew that ambulatory Autobot disaster would be useful one day," he crooned happily. 

Megatron rolled his head to get an optical view of the obstruction. It was a long sheet of... adhesive... tape? 

His arms were taped on either side of a great pillar sticking out of the dirt. He had seen them before -- elements of human construction, these huge metal and concrete poles that jutted out from deep in the rock below, intended to support a large building.

His recent memory files spread obediently through his processor, loading up flickers of -- Autobots, yes, and the flash of Wheeljack's fins, and a meaty human throat yelling, _"It's true, you really can solve any problem with duct tape!"_

"It will not hold me," Megatron predicted. He flexed against the tape, and it creaked softly, and the pillar also gave an uncertain creak. 

Starscream must have investigated already, because he didn't look the least bit concerned. That in itself was alarming: it was not typically very hard to make Starscream cautious, especially when his own aft was on the line. 

The restraints held. And Megatron didn't have the leverage to pull any harder. 

"I think it will," Starscream said, watching critically. Unfortunately, he was right. "Lucky for me," he added.

This was about when Megatron realised that Starscream's modesty panel was already very, very warm against the reinforced armour of Megatron's hips.

Megatron went abruptly still. 

Tap, went Starscream's fingertips on his chestplates. Tap-tap. His thumb rubbed along the sensitive seam there. 

"We could do _that_ aboard the Victory," Megatron tried, but from the expression of gloating pleasure on Starscream's smug little face he suspected he already knew what the response to this suggestion would be. 

"Mmm, no," Starscream said, evidently quite aware that Megatron would never allow himself to be put in this position voluntarily. 

Starscream shifted his own hips back with a scrape, allowing himself better access to Megatron's frame -- and his modesty plating.

Megatron could do very little as Starscream rubbed and teased and coaxed his plating open. He glowered fiercely, but if his glares had had any effect on Starscream he would have been useless as a first lieutenant. 

Megatron tugged at his restraints, listening to them creak but never give. He tried not to think too much about either the practiced skill with which Starscream touched him, sparking little bursts of startled pleasure in his sensory system -- or about the sound of helicopter rotors becoming, perhaps a little pointedly, more and more distant. 

Starscream made a low, appreciative hum when Megatron's spike finally extended, thick and heavy against his cherry-red pelvic plating. He wrapped his fingers around it immediately, feeling the weight and stiffness of it, and gave it a gentle, affectionate squeeze. 

As usual when it came to Starscream, Megatron's processor and his spike had slightly different opinions. 

He tensed and twitched into the touch. His spike went immediately firm, energon flooding the channels and sending charge through the plating, causing the tiny reactions that sensitised the whole stupid appendage.

Starscream made a pleased, cooing noise and leaned in closer. He trailed his fingers up and down the length of Megatron's spike, just enough contact to cause charge to concentrate where he laid them. He took his time about it, too, apparently luxuriating in the feel of the silky smooth metal growing hot with fast-pumping fuel beneath his touch.

There was an undeniable fantasy element to having a pretty, highly polished seeker perched across his thighs, showing off his sleek wings and determined to -- apparently -- indulge himself in exploring every mechanometer of Megatron's straining spike at exactly the maddening pace he chose. Megatron didn't have the luxury of spare time in which to watch raunchy holovids, but even he knew this was an entire genre on its own. 

Especially those wings. Sleek, pretty, deceptively fragile-looking. Their red stripes practically glowed under the light of Sol.

"Starscre--eam." Megatron's vocaliser cut out and then in again in the middle of the word when Starscream gave his spike another careful, gentle little squeeze, which was by then almost unbearable against the most sensor-rich ridges of its plating. 

Starscream ignored him, except to twitch one wing with ill-disguised interest at the sound of his cracking voice.

Instead he shifted again, until Megatron couldn't see what he was doing at all from where he was tied -- just the edges of those wings lifted into the air, gleaming. 

The angle of them suggested some idea to him, but he couldn't decide if it was exciting or --

He couldn't _see_ Starscream's mouth meeting, shamelessly, with the rounded and gently flared head of his spike. Of course not. He was taped, helplessly, with his arms stuck in the one position. But he could feel the dry, coy little kiss he gave the tip. 

Starscream's lips were impossibly soft. He could imagine his spike sinking into them.

Megatron shuddered from head to toe. His shoulder rattled softly against the pillar.

He twisted his arms against the tape. Again, it creaked. Again, it held.

Starscream kissed his spike again, slow, small, chaste little kisses, rubbing his pretty mouth along the plating. Megatron twisted and twitched in response.

Megatron began to suspect that might have been the point.

"Starscream," he said again. It did not emerge as a convincing protest, but rather a breathless little groan.

Starscream laughed. Megatron could feel it, little tremors in the warm air drifting out of his vents, caressing his valve panel and his bare, aching spike in teasing little waves.

_Oh... indulge him. Let him have it, this time,_ Megatron thought, finally, as though he had any real choice at all.

Starscream's lips rubbed over the head. Then they parted, slid until he could enclose the entire head of Megatron's spike in his mouth. He must have. Megatron could not see, but he could feel it: warm, and soft, and wet.

Megatron could not grab Starscream and force him to hurry up, he could not roll them and pin him, he could not even clearly see anything but the shift of Starscream pretty wings against the overcast sky: he just had to stay there, tied, helpless, and accept whatever he was given.

He stopped trying to see without ever making a conscious decision about it. Instead, Megatron fell back, shoulders clanking against the pillar, dazed and moaning.

The loudness of the sounds he was making shocked him. They also excited him. Hot on the heels of that feeling he went abruptly hot all over. 

His engine turned over. He wasn't even embarrassed by the sharp sound and sudden rumbling of it. He arched shamelessly into Starscream's mouth.

Starscream made a rumbling noise through his vents that Megatron distantly recognised as his own engine purring. A second later, he began to suck, lips pulsing around the head of Megatron's spike.

It felt heavenly. He whined when Starscream drew back, leaving the shaft of his very hot, swollen spike to chill in the air, and he groaned long and low and hard, vibrations rumbling up from his chest, when Starscream smoothly took it all the way back down. His mouth felt beautiful, all heat and softness and the slow steady throb of suction. He felt Starscream's throat open up around the head of his spike and he knew he was shaking.

Megatron wasn't sure how much time he lost, staring blankly at Sol high in the sky, rocking his hips slowly and unselfconsciously into Starscream's mouth. A long time. Long enough for Starscream to complain about the state of his jaw, usually -- but he was thoroughly in charge here, and made no such complaint. In fact, the air blasting from Starscream's vents across Megatron's valve panel was very warm.

"Finish it," he said at last, breathy and low, rolling his hips. "Starscream, finish it."

"Hmm," said Starscream speculatively. He drew back entirely, giving Megatron a view of his face, lips shining with lubricants. 

He trailed his fingers up Megatron's slick spike again, sweeping their tips into every curve and ridge. "Should I?" he wondered.

"Starscream," growled Megatron again, rolling his hips. 

He could almost _see_ Starscream consider drawing it out, little gears twirling in the processor behind his optics. 

But then Starscream's modesty plating opened with a whisper-quiet little whir, and Megatron knew immediately that he was too revved up to delay. He could _smell_ the sweet, heavy scent of Starscream's valve lubricant when his fans cycled the air. He made a soft noise when it hit his chemoreceptors, and his vision dimmed -- an effect of rerouted power. That smell was exciting.

He braced one hand on Megatron's chassis and took his spike in the other as he raised himself onto his knees. 

Megatron felt the rumble of his own engine fall off beat as it sputtered, but he remained still under Starscream's hands. He could not quite see that far down no matter how he craned his neck, but he could feel the soft slippery heat of Starscream's valve coming closer to his spike.

There was slick lubricant dripping down the inside of Starscream's thigh, and his spike slid against it for a moment, rubbing smoothly across the silky glossy metal, and then --

Starscream's valve was lush and warm and tight, syrupy with lubricants. The bumps of little nodes in its velvety inner lining were more swollen than he'd ever felt them, hard and throbbing with excess charge. He could feel them when the very lowest calipers clenched down hungrily on the tip of his spike, rubbing maddeningly. 

He felt that first hot, wet clench like a line of lightning clean up his spine. 

Megatron's optics, set to lowest power, captured it when Starscream's expression unfocused for a moment. His whole body went still, and then he let his vents open wide. They expelled a rush of heat down upon Megatron. 

Starscream spread his wings for balance, and swayed upwards, away from the contact, when Megatron thrust helplessly forward.

"Ah-ah," he chided, keeping his weight on his knees and pulling back as Megatron pushed forward, so he was not able to sink his spike any further into Starscream. Megatron came to the end of the very limited give in his bindings -- and it held, exactly as it had so far. 

Megatron would never admit to having whined for him, but he did. He wanted it. He wanted the soft, perfect, divine feeling of those lovely tight calipers closing around his spike, embracing and cradling and squeezing softly. His whole frame felt swollen, craving, primed. Mercy, he wanted it. 

Starscream laughed softly down at him, and then laid one deceptively gentle hand upon Megatron's jaw. He looked directly into his optics with his own gaze intent and dim: "You can frag me," he said, in an low, staticky voice that nevertheless hinted at how worked up he, too, must have been, "when I say you can frag me."

He drew back, leaving a trail of both their fluids smeared on Megatron's spike, and rubbed his valve across the hard and aching rod of it. 

"Ohh," he sighed, letting his helm tip back. His optics flicked off. He scraped little claw marks into Megatron's chassis and rubbed it with more enthusiasm. The lining of his valve was so swollen and plumped full of fuel that the shallowest nodes were catching on the ridges of Megatron's spike with each wet glide. Megatron could feel each one of them as they slid past: little bursts of charge crackling on his spike, teasing mercilessly.

"Maybe I'll keep you like this for a while," said Starscream, in a staticky and breathless voice, "all hard and swollen for my pleasure." 

"You will not," said Megatron, but the slow throb of pleasure pooling beneath his spike made him wonder if he meant it. Maybe Starscream would. Maybe he'd like it.

The slick friction of Megatron's spike ridges across his bright, pulsing external node seemed particularly exciting to him. He lingered there for some time, rubbing and rocking his hips, shameless in the face of the wet noises his valve was making. 

" _O-ohh._ Mm. You can't stop me," moaned Starscream. That, more than anything, seemed to do it for him, for he shivered happily against Megatron's frame.

Megatron's spike was leaking. Every solid inch of him seemed to ache and throb and beg for Starscream, but Starscream remained in no hurry at all. Between them there grew a mess of lubricants and fluids, and every movement sounded obscene.

Finally, after what felt like the passing of a geological age, Starscream sank slowly -- torturously slowly -- down upon Megatron's spike. His claws scraped luxuriously across Megatron's broad chestplates. The dull scratches seemed like an unaccountably huge sensation, spreading out from where Starscream laid them. 

And then he sighed and smiled, and he slid the rest of the way down, right down, unhurried, letting Megatron feel every last bit of his spike sink beautifully into Starscream's valve. 

Megatron moaned aloud, and his optical feed dropped our entirely. All of his thick spike was clutched tightly inside all the impossibly soft, hot grip of his valve. It felt electrifying, and left Megatron's senses reeling and his hips shaking beneath Starscream's comparatively light frame. 

Starscream watched him with those low-burning optics, indulgent and pleased with himself. 

Megatron jolted forward, bouncing him with the quick instinctive shove of his hips. His shoulders scraped on the pillar and the dirt below, and Starscream's wings flared slightly for balance even as his face went slack and his calipers squeezed down.

It felt so good that he did it again before he'd even realised he was doing it. He tugged against his bonds, shoving his hips forward over and over, mindlessly. He knew he must look like some half wild mechanimal, but the feeling of Starscream's valve wrapped all soft and hot and silky, rippling down upon his spike with every thrust and jerk was overwhelming. He grunted and his huge powerful thighs trembled and he did not stop.

And Starscream rode it out like his spike was a particularly good interfacing toy, sighing and purring backhanded praise down at him: "Ungh.... Oh, yes, just like that," he arched, grinding down hard just as Megatron thrust up with what leverage he had. Starscream's optics went blank and his expression contorted, briefly, in pleasure. 

"Like that, yes...! Ungh... I knew I'd find something you were good for, eventually," he moaned.

Megatron was not listening. Starscream was particularly stunning in pleasure: he had a strained twist to his smirking mouth, which did fine things to his face; his wings were high and flared out shamelessly, open and vulnerable and bouncing gently with every roll of his hips, moving with every long hard grind; and he was shining in the yellow light of the local star.

"Megatron," Starscream groaned as he ground down again, a sinuous movement that rubbed his slick, hot little anterior node roughly against the transformation housing of Megatron's spike. His gleaming thighs shook at the sensation, and his valve went tight, internal structures all pulsing and rippling as it tried to draw more of that sensation out of Megatron's spike. "Megatron, yes...!"

Megatron's internals turned to hot melted liquid at the sound of him sighing and groaning his name like that, and as the wild, arrhythmic clenching of Starscream's valve caressed every sensory node on his spike, Megatron's vocaliser crackled in response. He wasn't sure what he was trying to say. 

Starscream overloaded noisily, rubbing himself hard against Megatron's big frame. His valve clenched down rapidly, squeezing and relaxing and squeezing down sweetly again in its delicious embrace around Megatron's spike. 

Megatron could feel his frame starting to lock up with his own impending overload. A full-frame throb of heady pleasure flooded through his circuitry, hitting each sensory system, crowding out all his data inputs as it overwhelmed him. His audio pickup gave him nothing but silence and his visual feed cut right to static for a moment. His processor came up with a series of errors: coolant boiling, sensory system overwhelmed.

He overloaded. His whole frame clenched so violently he could feel his limbs start to tremor. His cables tightened and strained so hard they creaked. Something behind him cracked. Megatron's vocaliser whined and rasped, noises that certainly indicated enjoyment, even if they did not meaningfully communicate anything else. 

He strained against the tape, helpless, shaking, and his optics rolled up, flickering erratically.

Even when he came down he was still twitching and trembling, still grunting, feeling his internals flutter with the aftershocks of overload. His fans stuttered, and then returned to their highest, loudest setting, like a scream. He still couldn't circulate the air fast enough, so he breathed through his mouth, too, panting.

He was ticking quietly, cooling. He could feel each little creak and tick in his plating.

Megatron reset his optics. 

The sky above was still overcast, and he could still, distantly, hear a helicopter. His gaze fell upon Starscream once more, still perched across his pelvic armour. He, too, seemed to be coming down from the high of a very powerful overload.

Megatron felt like his whole frame was liquid, happily melted with the lingering chemical effects of such a powerful overload. He sighed, rumbling, and leaned forward just enough to see the tremendous mess they'd made, paint scraped off and lubricants and fluids everywhere between them. 

Starscream's head snapped up at the movement. His whole frame went wire tense. His suddenly-alert optics fixed on the pillar behind Megatron's helm, to which his arms had been so securelt taped.

"You--!" he did not finish the statement.

He scrambled off Megatron's frame, plating shifting, giving him a breif view of his flashy, pretty valve all messed up and slick with trans fluid before his plating spiralled close again.

This was as far as Starscream got. The moment he had looked at Megatron with such alarm, Megatron, too, had begun narrowing down what could have caused it -- and then he realised that he'd leaned up, and the tape _had not restrained him_. 

The powerful straining of his limbs in overload hadn't torn the tape, no -- but he had broken the pillar.

It came crashing down beside them when he lunged. The tape came free with a wet ripping noise, flapping uselessly in the air. 

Starscream's wing squealed when his fingers skimmed it. 

Then he shrieked, transformed and launched himself into the sky, going from a standstill to well past the sound barrier in seconds, sending dirt and debris streaming with the speed of his exit.

Megatron peered up after him and knew he was long gone. He drew back and didn't immediately follow. He'd never catch Starscream in the air like that. 

He settled back on his heels and let his own spike plating close once more. Starscream had to return to base eventually, and his cowardice just gave Megatron ample time to dream up a way to... suitably repay him. 

He looked down at his arms, frowning fiercely, and peeled off a long strip of the Autobots' tape. It stung. He wasn't surprised to see when he got it off that it took some paint along with it. 

The Constructicons would be able to replicate it, he was sure. It would have many applications... 

And he knew Starscream would absolutely hate getting it on _his_ plating.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked something about this please feel free to let me know in a comment, if you are inclined to comment. 
> 
> I am still not completely sure this fills the prompt right, but an effort was made.
> 
> EDIT: I forgot the best part. The helicopter isn't Vortex. It's a news crew and they want the Autobots to explain this strange behaviour. _It can't be what it looks like, obviously._


End file.
